Vendetta
by Too Much Information
Summary: A slayer with a past falls in love with William the Bloody. How will Drusilla react to her childe's defection? And how does this slayer know Angelus and his family? I can't say more than that without giving too much away, really.
1. Prologue

Author's Notes: I've been thinking about this idea for a time and decided to finally try and get it down on paper. I originally posted this under the title "Amnesia" but think that will be better suited for the second part. I've made some changes. I hope you enjoy it. I'd love to get some feedback in the form of reviews. Sunnydale, California - 1878 

Lightening flashes across the night sky, illuminating the dark clouds intermittently. The air is heavy with the promise of a summer storm. A blanket of silence, broken only by the rumbling thunder in the distance, covers the graveyard. A woman slips out of the shadows and walks slowly toward the center of the cemetery. Her movement is graceful, purposeful. She stops in front of a fresh grave and kneels. Her face is somber, her eyes bloodshot from crying. Slender fingers reach out the trace the name on the headstone lovingly.

Rodrigo Perez  
1850-1878  
Beloved Husband & Father 

Her hand drops to her lap and her eyes fall to the ground when the mounded dirt in front of her begins to tremble. She shows no surprise, simply bows her head, whispers a hasty prayer, and then shakily stands. From her sleeve appears a wooden stake. She watches sadly as a hand breaks through the soil. The late Rodrigo Perez pulls himself out of the ground, his face distorted by a demon and his new fangs forcing his mouth slightly ajar.

He sees her and steps away, momentarily taken aback. Does she see fear? The recovery is swift. The vampire shakes his head until his human visage appears and then he smiles, "Sara, my beautiful wife. I wondered if you would come for me, mi vida."

The smile weakens her. It's just so…Rodrigo. For one moment, one treacherous moment, she allows herself to forget that they are standing in front of his grave. That she is a widow. That her son is buried in the adjoining plot. That they were killed by a monster who has turned her life inside out. His smile transports her to the million little moments that made up their life together. And then she allows hope to steal reason. Maybe he is different from the countless others she has slain. Maybe the good in him will overcome the demon. Maybe…

Her reverie is interrupted by a snarl. The familiar smile becomes a sneer as he grabs her arms and yanks her close. With one hand twisted in her long brown tresses, he wrenches her head to the side exposing her neck. His breath tickles as he whispers in her ear, "I so wanted my first meal to be your blood. Slayer blood. Gracias por venir."

He gently scrapes a fang against her pulse point and moans as he licks a drop of blood from the cut. Suddenly, he holds her at arm's length. His fingers dig into her arms painfully. His yellow eyes search hers, for what she does not know. His voice is husky when he speaks again. "It does not have to be to the death, mi amor. Let me turn you. I love you. Let me love you forever."

Pulling her close again, he kisses and nibbles on her neck looking for a response. Her eyes squeeze shut and she loses herself in the illusion. Familiar arms hold her. Arms she never thought would envelop her again. His scent surrounds her: a unique blend of rum, tobacco, and the outdoors. "Rodrigo…" she murmurs.

"Be mine." He insists. "Forever mine." She feels his fangs once more on her neck, ready to break the skin. And those fangs bring her crashing back to reality.

With a gasp she brings a foot up and forces him off of her. They stand facing each other, she breathing heavily and he without need for breath. Her hand flies to the wound on her neck, covering it. Her other hand clings to the stake and weakly waves it at him, as though to ward him away. Her mind fights her heart. She's not considering this. Is she considering this? He peers into her startled blue eyes and knows the moment the decision is made. Their ocean blue color sharpens to sapphire and her full lips draw back into a sneer of their own.

"I could never be yours. You are not my husband. And you are not capable of love." Quickly, before she can change her mind, she drives the stake into his heart.

It is done. She falls to the ground, lying in the dust. His dust. She breaks. The heavens open up and cry with her.

TBC

Glossary of Spanish Statements Mi vida – my life 

Gracias por venir – Thank you for coming

Mi amor – my love


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Some dialogue lifted from the Episode "Fool for Love."

London, England – 1880

Sara glances at a young man sitting off in a secluded corner at the party. With a sigh, she sits near him. Not next to him—it wouldn't be proper to be too forward. Plus, she's not really in the mood for company. No, she's itching for the hunt tonight. It should be a good night to sneak out and get in some slaying. Losing herself in her plans for the evening, she almost misses his voice.

"Luminous… oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better."

"What?" Her fingers pick nervously at the skirt of her evening gown. Oh, God. He's not going to try and have a conversation with her, is he? She only sat here because he looked rather antisocial.

"Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for 'gleaming'? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see." She looks at the strange young man closely for the first time.

His brown hair is long and one curl of it flops over his forehead and into his eyes, giving him an unfussy appearance. So many of these English men look as though they spend half their lives primping in front of mirrors. His glasses obscure sharp, intelligent eyes so blue she thinks she may drown in their ocean. His suit is the height of London fashion and it complements his slender, yet muscular form quite well. All in all, a very appealing package.

"Miss?" Again his voice grabs her attention and she blushes, realizing she must have been staring. What did he ask her? Oh, yes…

"Ummm…shiny? Bright?" His mouth twists into a nervous smile but his eyes sparkle with a secret joke as he cocks his head and considers her choices. She tries again, "Glossy?" His smile widens, no longer timid, and now his eyes are definitely amused. "I'm not very helpful, am I?" She admits in defeat. She is surprised to find that a part of her is disappointed that she is not able to impress him.

"No, no. Do not fret. I dare say I should not have bothered you. My sincerest apologies." His face pinks up in embarrassment and he hunches back over a paper she had not seen in his lap.

"It's no bother. I just wish I were more…wordy." Sara is again surprised, this time to find she wants to continue their conversation.

He peers at her shyly from under his hair. "You have a lovely accent." He blushes again after complimenting her. "Are you the American staying with the Adams family?"

"Yes, Aunt Florence invited me for an extended visit after..." Her throat tightens and she stops midstream. Being at a party, talking with a handsome young man…it's the first time she's allowed herself to forget what drove her to Europe. Closing her eyes, she wishes herself back to California.

Two years ago she had a life, her own family, a safe haven from being the Slayer. Then the two most important people in her world were killed. Now she lives in England with plastic relatives she regrets having to claim as family. Their days are filled with a relentless schedule of high tea, gossip, dinner parties, mocking the neighbors, and balls. It's exhausting. But she plays her part well. She smiles politely and acts the happy houseguest, ignoring her uncle's attempts to marry her off to the highest bidder. She lives for the nights when she can hunt. She might never again meet the vampires that killed her family, but she can take out her vengeance on any demon that crosses her path. And she does. Someday, if she's lucky, one of those demons will have a real good day and put her out of her misery….

Shaking herself back to the present, she focuses again on her companion. In his excitement, he did not even notice her slipping away.

"Your aunt? Why…why…that means Cecily is your cousin." He seems very excited by that idea. She sighs. Her cousin is the worst of the lot. It is torture living with the stuck-up, selfish bitch. How can this man, who seems quite charming, be an admirer? He doesn't seem like the normal sheep that flock to Cecily. He seems…special. Special? Her pulse quickens with that thought and she pushes it away with a vicious shove.

"Yes, she is, lucky me. I'm Sara Perez."

"It is a divine pleasure to meet you. My name is William Pratt."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Pratt." She's again surprised to find she means it. He makes her feel warm again and she hasn't allowed herself to feel much of anything since shoving a stake into her dead husband's heart. Guilt consumes her. Happy thoughts? Admiring-a-man thoughts? She starts to rise, preparing to flee when a familiar voice breaks into the conversation.

"Sara. I thought that was you from across the room. What has it been, two years? What a pleasant surprise. We have a great deal of catching up to do, don't we?"

Forgetting William Pratt for the moment, she squares her shoulders and turns to face her watcher.


End file.
